Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Wynter
I spent the afternoon reading in my room and look up when I hear my phone buzz, indicating I have a text. I reach for it, surprised to see a text from my sister.
HARLEY: Heading to the venue for soundcheck in thirty. If you want to ride over on the bus with us, meet us in the lobby. We won’t come back to the hotel before the show, so be prepared to hang out at the arena until after.
I quickly respond.
WYNTER: Getting dressed! See you downstairs.
I’m surprised they’re still going to do the show because Kingston’s throat looked like it would really hurt to sing, but what do I know?
I’m only a nurse. Kingston has the money to get the best medication and medical advice available.
This couldn’t be the first time he got sick in his decade-long career.
No matter how strongly I want to tell him not to risk damaging his vocal cords, I have to learn to keep my opinions to myself. That kind of thing gets me into trouble at work sometimes too. It’s like I care too much.
And in my experience, people rarely appreciate it.
That’s a big part of the reason why I’ve been considering going into travel nursing. I won’t be in one place long enough for my mouth to get me into trouble, and the money is so good I’ll be able to save up the down payment for a house relatively quickly.
At least, that’s the loose plan I’ve come up with.
I’m thirty-three and still living with my sister.
I initially moved in to help with River, and then I never left.
I assumed I’d wait until I met the right guy to think about something more permanent, like buying real estate.
But now she’s back with Tommy, and I feel like a third wheel.
They offered to let me live in his condo, the one he lived in while they were divorced, but they were leaving to go on tour so I figured there was no point in moving.
But now it feels like it’s time to grow up.
Move out, get my own place, start living for myself instead of for Harley.
I don’t need a man to be the best version of myself.
Or even a more stable version.
I shake off my maudlin thoughts and focus on what to wear.
I brought a black leather skirt, a lace-up corset that shows plenty of cleavage, and black heels to wear for the show, so I quickly pull them on.
Since I didn’t know whether or not I’d be going anywhere tonight, I did my hair earlier but hadn’t bothered with makeup.
Now I’m not sure whether to go all out with my heavily layered rock and roll face, complete with false eyelashes and black lipstick, or to just keep it simple.
Ross is mad at me, so he won’t pay attention to my makeup, and since I don’t have a lot of time, I opt for the basics: foundation, bronzer, a little eye liner and a couple of coats of mascara.
Mauve lipstick rounds out my look, and I stuff my room key, ID, some cash, and the lipstick into my crossbody purse.
It’s my favorite, small and comfortable for a rock concert, and I drape it over my shoulder as I walk out of my room.
To my surprise, Ross is just coming out of his room across the hall.
He looks like he’s in a hurry, so I smile as I catch his gaze and our eyes meet.
“Hey.”
“You riding over to the arena with us?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” He doesn’t say anything else as we walk to the elevator and ride it down to the lobby.
Ugh.
He’s almost definitely mad about earlier.
“You look nice,” he says as we step out of the elevator.
Okay, maybe not mad-mad.
“Thank you.” I bite my lip shyly.
“Ready to go?” Tommy waves and we move toward the exit, where the bus is waiting and we appear to be the last two to arrive.
Ross and I follow him outside and up the steps.
“How are you feeling?” I ask Kingston as I sit down.
“He has laryngitis,” Devyn replies, holding up a hand to stop him when he opens his mouth.
“He called his doctor back in LA, who told him not to talk at all until the show. I’ve had him drinking tea with lemon and honey all afternoon, and this other concoction the doctor suggested.
He hasn’t spoken a word since this morning and he’s hoping his voice will last long enough to get through most of the show. ”
Kingston types something on his phone and shows it to Devyn, who reads it aloud. “You all need to plan for extended solos so I can sing less, and I’ve switched up the set to songs where I either sing less or are easier on my voice. And I’m not doing soundcheck either.”
Everyone nods.
“I can sing ‘Not Going Away,’” Z says. He wrote the power ballad for his wife, so he sometimes sings it live anyway.
“And I’m down to sing ‘Shiny Pieces,’” Tommy adds. “It’s from the first album—no one will notice if I screw up the lyrics.”
“I beg to differ,” I say primly, trying not to laugh. “It’s one of my favorites.”
They all grin at me, and I sit back, listening to them discussing the set and their plans to compensate for Kingston’s limited singing ability.
It reminds me of other days, when Tommy and Harley first got together, and we spent almost every night of the week listening to them rehearse or play live around Hollywood.
We all knew they were going to be big, but we never imagined how big. Or how fast it would happen.
I loved being able to watch it happen, even though it slowly destroyed my sister.
“You look melancholy all of a sudden,” Ross says as we walk down the long hallway toward the underground backstage area of the arena.
“I was just thinking about the early days, when we used to hang out and party on the bus during their first tour. Before things took off.”
“I wasn’t around yet,” he replies. “I came on for their second album and tour. And they were already getting big by then.”
“It was a crazy time. I was just out of college, but Harley and Tommy were together, so I spent almost every free night watching and listening. There were so many good times. It was enchanting. I had to stop coming around as much after they got divorced, and I’ve missed the magic that surrounds them.
As someone on the outside looking in, I can’t imagine what it’s like to see something you wrote suddenly become a household name.
Like writing some random words and then seeing millions of people sing them. ”
“It is pretty magical,” he admits, looking away.
The faraway look in his eyes makes me long to touch him.
Comfort him.
Say or do something to make that pain go away.
But he doesn’t want that comfort, at least not from me, and I already pushed it enough.
If I want to be his friend, and I really do, I have to keep my mouth shut and mind my own business.
That’s all there is to it.